It's only as complicated as we make it
by Darke Eco Freak
Summary: That's what he keeps telling himself, it's what he wants to believe because that way, none of this really matters. The kid is disturbing and he's disturbed, complicated is the last thing he needs.


DEF: More JakxTorn wonderfullness, a near direct continuation of Soaked to the Bone.

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><p>"Good job with those Hellcats today," he blurted nearly as soon as the blond was through the door but damn if the kid deserved it. He'd seen what those Hellcats could do up close and personal, he was lucky to only have bruises, and here this punk kid, this loose cannon with a score to settle, had taken out all five of the bastards. If that didn't justify some form of praise then nothing in this damn place did.<p>

"Uh thanks, anything to fuck with the Baron," came the prompt reply, he couldn't help the gruff chuckle, every time he tried to talk with this kid it always came back around to the Baron. Then again, this entire organization always came back around to the Baron so he couldn't really fault the kid for his obsession with the one eyed asshole.

"Either way, you and the rat've really proven yourselves, even I'm impressed with some of the stunts you've managed to pull off," he mused, stroking his chin as he recalled just how much damage the blond rebel alone had done. The kid was like a one man explosive, just set him off somewhere vaguely important and watch the city crumble, it was almost beautiful in a crazy, chaotic, terrifying way. He could understand why the Baron was so eager to have him killed.

He didn't get an answer for that one, just a vague, acknowledging grunt before the kid climbed up to one of the bunks and started emptying things from his bag pack. Torn watched as an incredibly amount of ammunition, gun mods and general crap grew into a small pile on the bed before turning back to his maps and planning. Taking out the Hellcats had been a necessary evil, the Underground movement couldn't survive with those things patrolling the skies but he was sure Errol would take out another half dozen of his men as a 'warning'.

He resisted the urge to rub his temples, there was just so much to plan and calculate and trust in being a triple agent and part of it was causing just enough damage to justify the increasingly aggressive force used by the guards. The Baron was a smart man, he knew the only way to keep the city was to be its saving grace and for that he needed threats to defend it from. Although the Metal Heads were a very real, very volatile threat, there was no way they would have spread this far and this quickly without the Baron egging them on, allowing them to get closer, allowing them to attack just enough to convince the populous of his usefulness.

Sadly, fucking sadly, the Underground was nearly the same thing. Anyone joining the Underground thinking it was the only thing safe from the Baron's constant surveillance was a damn fool. That blasted man was aware of every damn thing that went on in his city, 'rebellion' be damned. The only reason the Shadow's head wasn't on a pike in front of the palace gates was because of Dead Town, the one miscalculation in a sea of success.

Praxis'd been getting sloppy, cocky, forgot just what the Metal Heads could do when they took a city and gave them too much leeway. Dead Town was once part of the bourgeoisie, the rich lived there, part of the reason the tower'd been erected there in the first place. The KG hadn't even been able to repel the attack but the Shadow had and the Baron decided to sit back and observe this budding underground organisation until it had grown into a significant threat, then he bought it.

"So, got anything for us to do?"

His knife was in his hand and embedded in the wall, just to the left of the smirking blond's face before he could check himself.

"Fucking hell Jak, when'd you get down?" he grumbled, running a hand over his face and promptly deciding that rubbing his temples would be a great way to try to relieve the tension there. He was barely twenty-eight but with the way things were shaping up, he'd be lucky to have his own hair by his thirtieth birthday. He accepted the handle as it was held out to him and stuck the blade back in its sheath, avoiding the kid's eyes for the time being.

"About five minutes ago and you've just been staring at the maps, not blinking," the blond felt the need to add and for the first time Torn noticed something strange about how the kid speaks. The sentences were usually short, composed, and said everything they need to say without being lengthy, unless the kid's talking about Praxis which just leads off onto a bloodthirsty rant. Any other time the kid acts as though if he can't get his meaning across _now_, he never will, which is strange and just a bit disturbing, but then, there's a lot disturbing about this kid.

Disturbing is the word he chooses to use, it is the only he always himself to use because interesting is for idiots that won't make it through this war.

"Yeah well some of us have to coordinate this war, unlike those who just blow shit up," he grunted but there's a wry smile on his face that he hopes the kid can see in the shitty light because they've only just gotten on good terms and he doesn't actually want that to regress the hard ass superior and belligerent underling. He actually likes the kid, there he said it, but he can't help that, there's just something incredibly likable about a seventeen year old kid that's hell bent on utterly destroying any and everything that gets in his way.

If he had to compare it to something, he'd say it's the same fascination a lot of people had with thunderstorms. You couldn't help but love the rain as it fell, couldn't help the thrill of adrenaline that shot up your spine when the lightning flashed and thunder crashed. He thinks it's called Sublime Syndrome but he could be wrong.

"And where would your war be without us, huh Torn?" Jak sighed, a wide, shit eating grin plastered on his face as he came around to the red head's end of the table and cleared a small space for himself upon which he promptly perched. The commander snorted but didn't push the kid off his table, he was in a somewhat good mood after all and so long as the kid didn't knock his shit off or get mouthy, he was fine.

He continued on with his attack strategy for another quiet half hour with only minimal interruption from the blond renegade, usually helpful tips about whichever location. Torn wasn't a field agent, not anymore at least, and things were bound to change since his last excursion anywhere so the kid's tips were welcomed and incorporated into the plans. It's disturbing how well they get along when they're not at each other's throats like savage crocadogs, disturbing and very nearly distressing.

"Why'd you and the rat decide to crash here tonight?" he grimaced as soon as the words are out of his mouth but doesn't say anything more, he knows why the question slipped though. It's been frequenting his thoughts for nearly the entire time the blond kid and the orange rat have been here, almost a full hour, three times the length of their longest visit and it doesn't look like they're moving anytime soon. The backpack full of weapons and things is still sitting on the top bunk, in plain view, and he can just make out a fuzzy, orange tail laying across it, its owner asleep as that's the only way Daxter'd be silent for any length of time.

He also knows that the pair use the outer wall airlocks far more often than could be blamed on missions, for the Underground, Krew, or otherwise. He's not a stupid man, he knows exactly how much the kid hates the city and its damn walls, more than likely because of prison, and can put two and two together. His guess is that the pair usually camp out in the forest when they can, or the pumping station if they have to, maybe even Dead Town just because it's usually calm. Although just because he can figure it out doesn't make it any easier to accept because fuck.

"Closest, and Dax's exhausted. He shoots when I drive," Jak added with a slight shrug but the kid refuses to meet his eyes when he looks up sharply. He blinks slowly as the information processes itself, a two foot tall rat shot those Hellcats out of the sky while some seventeen year old runt avoided the guards and the turbo cannons. The image forms in his head and he has to take a minute to actually accept it because as much as he's come to believe in the impossible, this is just...fuck.

"Heh and you're not?" he huffed but he's still reeling from the new information, this kid will be the death of him by shock factor alone, he's sure of it.

"I don't need much sleep anymore, like you're one to talk," he can tell the last bit is added on to try and throw him off, to get any sort of pity or sympathy off his back. It's a good strategy, one Torn's fallen prey to before, the kid might've been a mute once, if the rat was telling the truth back then, but he's a master of language. Still, Torn wasn't commander for nothing; he would be useless if he couldn't figure out tactics and devising countermeasures against them and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, he's been spending some time coming up with the proper way of dealing with the kid.

"I sleep, not everyone can survive on adrenaline and eco you know," he murmured, making sure his gaze was focused on the maps as he said it but he can still feel the tension cut through the air sharper than any knife. He doesn't look up at the soft exhalation of breath, just traces another path through the damn fortress, one that doesn't pass through the prison, and waits.

It takes five minutes, there isn't a clock in the hideout but he counted the seconds, counting while he stared holes into his maps and waited. The only sound for five minutes is a loud snore from the rat on the top bunk and soft breathing, somehow it's still oppressive.

"Mainly eco."

He finally looks up from his maps, ready to launch into some strange conversation about eco channelling and the effects of dark eco on a living being, but he forgot how silently the kid moves. Somehow the damn blond had moved closer, leaning downwards for some reason known only to him so Torn feels justified in placing all the blame on the renegade.

Lips meet in something that should be innocent, accidental, but they both know it isn't. The positioning's awkward and neither one of them can figure out what to do with their hands, whether to push the other away or just lay limp. There's way too much teeth, accidental kisses tend to have too much, and the kid has no technique to speak of, not that he should seeing as this is accidental, and his fault, not Torn's.

Finally reaching up and fisting his hand in the course blue material of the kid's shirt is Torn's fault though, all his fault, and he takes full responsibility for it. He tries to take control, he's done this before after all, but the kid's stubborn, they both are, and neither one wants to give in. The kiss is everything it has no right to be, it's filthy, sloppy and full of everything they refuse to acknowledge and more aggressive than caring, but it's still perfect. It has no right to be perfect.

He can feel the spike of emotion in his chest, painful and forceful, too hot and too much all at once. He's sure the flush creeping across his cheeks and down his neck clashes horribly with his hair and make his tattoos stand out more than usual, but somehow he doesn't care. He doesn't care about the discomfort or the awkwardness or the embarrassment, or guilt, he just wants more.

More of the sparking, metallic taste on his tongue, more of the electric current thrumming under his skin, never wants to give up the entirely foreign scent of salt and clean and eco that fills his world. He was in love with Ashelin at one point, still cared for her, but being with her was never like this, never felt as though he'd been electrocuted and left to die on the ground. It's addicting and damning all at once because he knows attachment is a dangerous thing in this war but he's already hooked.

Damn if he hadn't tried though, damn if he hadn't told himself it was wrong, that Jak was ten years younger than him and too risky an enterprise to get involved with. The kid had dark eco pumping through his veins, even if Praxis and the Metal Heads didn't get him, the eco would and Torn didn't want to be around for that. The kid was stubborn and selfish and had more issues than there were crooked guards, and somehow he was still attracted. Sublime syndrome indeed.

Torn's the first one to break away, to lean away from the blond with the impossibly blue eyes and take a deep breath. He can tell with one look that Jak didn't regret it, and truthfully neither did he, but now things are more complicated than they already are.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he muttered, voice soft, not meant to be heard.

"Nothing more than you want it to," the blond murmured and another curious little fact to file away for later; Dark eco gives you exceptional hearing, if you don't die from it of course.

"Right," he grunted, pulling the boy into another searing kiss and forgetting all about complicated, at least for the night.


End file.
